


Homecoming

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Adopted Children, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Spooning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29882286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Anders waits for Hawke to return after the Breach is sealed, steaming cup of tea in hand, winter winds whipping at his cloak in their cottage in the Hinterlands.
Relationships: Anders/Male Hawke
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14
Collections: Nobody Expects the Dragon Age Smutquisition





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ser_Thirst_A_Lot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ser_Thirst_A_Lot/gifts), [SarcoLaniar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarcoLaniar/gifts).



> For Ser-Thirst-A-Lot and Sarcolaniar for the DA Smutquisition! I hope you enjoy this fic. It ended up a liiiittle bit more angsty than I intended.

The sky sealed itself shut with a clatter and a clash, the swirling boulders falling back to the ground, rumbling, setting birds flying from their perches from the tops of the towering pines that sheltered the little cottage in the Hinterlands from prying eyes. Anders stood vigil by the kitchen windows, making sure nothing more nefarious came calling. The twins, woken with a start, rubbed their eyes at the noise, rushing from their shared bedroom to cling to Anders’ legs.

“What happened, papa?” Flora asked, yawning, eyes wide with wonder as Anders lifted her up to look out the window.  
“The sky’s been healed,” Anders murmured, pressing a kiss to her brow. “Your da and the Inquisition did it.” 

“Does that mean he’ll be coming home soon?” Finn hummed, raising his arms so Anders could lift him up to see, too. Still so slender, even though it had been almost a year since Anders and Garrett had found the two little ones, wandering the ruined Kinloch Hold, pale and thin waifs, their skin nearly transparent from malnourishment. 

“A family of our own,” Garrett had whispered one night, arms wrapped around Anders’ shoulders. “I had given up on having a family again.”

Anders had bitten back tears in the darkness, snuggling closer. “As had I, love.” 

They were all foundlings of a sort, the four of them, smoldering among the ashes of their ruined lives. Perhaps they could give the twins the lives he and Garrett had lost. That had been their hope, when the two of them found the abandoned shack tucked away in the middle of nowhere, in the country he and Garrett had both been born in. Nearer to Kinloch than Anders had ever intended to be again. There wasn’t a tower any longer, but the specter of the building still haunted his dreams and those of the twins. 

They could build a life for them, though, away from the injustices of the world. Helping fleeing mages when they could. Providing a refuge for their family and anyone who crossed their path. A sanctuary Garrett had constructed, log by log and stone by stone, for them all.

“Papa?” Finn asked again, tugging at Anders’ cowl, tiny hands scrubbing through his beard. Too small to have been taken away from their family and held in captivity. Too little to remember more than flashes of their parents. Flora said their mother smelled like bread. Anders’ had, too. Finn said their father liked to tickle them until everyone in the house was giggling. Anders remembered how he longed to be touched during that year of confinement-

“Papa?” Flora tugged at the leg of his breeches, joining in the chorus.

Anders shook his head, banishing the memories. He tousled their hair in turn. “Yes. Yes, I hope he comes home soon. We’ll need to get everything in tip-top shape before he does, hm?” Anders set Finn gently back on his feet. “That means all your toys go back in their box at the end of every day.” He glanced between the twins, unable to keep himself from smiling. “Can I trust you with that task?”

They nodded, each in turn, before rushing back to their room. He could hear little feet bustling around, cleaning up the detritus of their childhood and tucking everything away. 

He hadn’t given words to the anxiety that tugged at his heart, nesting there among the love that had rooted deeply. Ferelden was a war zone. Plenty of people wouldn’t come home; he’d gotten enough letters from Varric to know that much. 

But Garrett was Garrett and he’d made Anders a promise when he left. 

“We won’t lose anyone else, you and I,” Garrett murmured, their hands clasped together in the pouring rain, the seal to Varric’s letter torn open on the table. “I’ll be back, if I have to punch the Maker himself.”

Anders had laughed then, if only to keep from crying as he watched his one true love mount his horse and ride away from their little oasis to an uncertain future. 

The twins chattered cheerily about what they would do when their da returned, wood clunking and cloth crinkling in the other room. Stories? Yes, they both agreed. A great many stories. After hugs, of course, and kisses, and sweet rolls their papa would no doubt bake, no matter what time Garrett arrived home.

Anders stood vigil at the kitchen window, his staff in easy reach, in case any wayfaring demons came rushing up the hill towards the cottage, tucked away in the middle of nowhere, safe between monolithic firs and pine trees. 

* * *

Three weeks of quiet mornings before Anders heard the tell-tale sound of horses’ hooves at dawn, just as the rosy sunlight began cascading across the valley, urging its denizens to rise to meet the day. 

Garrett? Or a messenger, carrying grim tidings? He rose from the kitchen table, setting aside his cup of strongly brewed tea, dragging his cloak from its hook and wrapping it tightly around his shoulders as he padded towards the door in bare feet. Verdant shoots were just beginning to sprout out of the snow. A new year, new life, yet Anders felt as though his own was still as frozen as the peaks of the Frostbacks. 

The rider approached, heavily cowled. An unfamiliar mount, much lighter in color than Garrett’s stallion Valor. Anders swallowed past the tightness in his chest. It was to be a messenger, then. His breaths quickened as he tried to think of what to tell the twins. _They were too young to know loss_ , he thought, even though he knew they’d felt it when they were dragged away from their families to the Circle. His eyes burned, his throat filled with fire as the mare kicked up sod, racing towards him. Its rider dismounted slowly, a limp in his left leg as he led the horse up the rise towards the cottage. 

The hood dropped to reveal a familiar smile and Anders’ heart stopped. Garrett’s beard was laced with more gray than he remembered and a new staff was strapped to his back, but it _was_ Garrett. Injured and exhausted, by the looks of it, but- “Oh, Maker.” The words hardly sounded like his own as he flew across the field, frozen grass biting at his bare feet as Garrett beamed up at him, stretching his arms out as Anders poured into his embrace.

Half a year. Half a _year_ he’d been gone. The tears fell freely now, running together and catching on Hawke’s cloak. There were no words to express his relief, just the warmth of Hawke’s breath ghosting against his cheek, the scratch of the thick beards they’d both grown, the familiar scent of leather and grass and _him_ , filling Anders’ senses and threatening to overwhelm him. 

“I made you a promise,” Hawke murmured, “you act as though you thought I hadn’t kept it.”  
“You’re an ass,” Anders choked between muffled sobs. “You’re an ass and I was afraid-”  
“I’m here now,” Garrett chuckled, brushing their lips together, chapped and familiar, his own parting easily at the touch. “How long do we have before the twins wake?”

Anders laughed, because he was powerless to do anything else. “An hour, maybe two, if you can be quiet.”

“If _I_ can be!” Garrett rumbled, nuzzling his cheek, rough and familiar and longed for. “Let’s see what we can manage, hm?”

* * *

Hawke _had_ been limping, but he refused to let Anders see to his wound until they’d seen to each other thoroughly in an entirely different manner. Anders eased Hawke back onto the bed they’d shared, covered in quilts to warm off the chill, unlacing and unbuckling his armor piece by piece, setting them aside.

New scars had joined the old, familiar ones, many of which Anders had treated himself. Stories they’d need to share at a later date. Every inch of Garrett was corded muscle, honed from training with his staff and tending to their house in the wilderness, further refined by the demands of war. Anders kissed him, memorizing every new fading line with lips and tongue and teeth. Garrett winced when Anders neared his leg, to which Anders again offered to heal him, but was rebuffed. 

“Just be gentle, darling,” Garrett grinned, cupping his cheek. “You can fuss over me later.”

Anders traced the line of hair starting at Hawke’s navel, his fingers slipping under Garrett’s breeches, fumbling with the laces as Garrett began to harden underneath the leather. Finally he managed to release him, Hawke’s head falling back onto the pillows as Anders dipped his head between Garrett’s thighs, kissing everywhere but where he was desperately wanted, until finally he took the tip of Garrett’s cock between his lips. 

He lapped lazily, reveling in the salty brine that coated his tongue, swiping in circles, making Hawke groan, one arm covering his face, the other clenching in Anders’ hair every time he bobbed, taking his lover deeper. _This_. Maker, how he missed this sort of languid lovemaking. So different from what he’d had in the Circle or even in Kirkwall, where everything seemed uncertain and ready to immolate. He feasted until Hawke couldn’t take it anymore, pleading for more, more touch, more pressure more-

Anders slicked his fingers with a spell and slipped them between Garrett’s legs, spreading them to give himself better access. Tight muscle twitched around his fingertip as Anders circled his entrance, pressing inside. Garrett’s moans curled Anders’ lips into a self-satisfied smile as he bent to taste him again, his finger curling inside of his lover’s body, Garrett gasping for more. 

He acquiesced, adding a second finger to the first, pulsing inside of Garrett, making him drag a pillow against his face to groan and grumble into it, trying to keep from waking the twins. 

“I’m-” Garrett met his eyes, jaw tight from suppressing his shouts. “Gods, Anders, if you don’t fuck me now, I’m not sure I can-”  
Anders laughed, helpless, as he stroked his own length, slickening it as he rolled Garrett onto his side. To hold him, every inch of him, to breath him in as they twined together as they were meant to- Anders took a deep, earth shattering breath, and held himself against Garrett, easing inside. His eyes rolled back from the familiar pleasure of it, of _him_ , compressing him, tight and hot as a kiln. Slow. Slow. Slow. He had to remind himself, repeating the mantra, remembering Garrett’s injuries. Slow. Inch by painstaking inch, Anders entered him, binding them together until he was seated up to the hilt, and then finally they moved together, his hand over Garrett’s mouth to muffle the sounds he was making, his own pressed tightly against the skin of Garrett’s shoulder. 

He rocked his hips, again and again, as though they had all the time in the world to discover each other again. They did. They _would_. 

It was over far too soon, both of them terribly out of practice, Garrett cresting with a cry, his muscles tensing around Anders and sending him over the edge quickly after, the room filling with starlight at dawn, his love trembling around him like the earth that had rumbled when those final Fade-caught boulders had fallen from the sky.

They lay there, tangled and panting, the winter chill staved off from their magic and their bodies, kissing each other with a tired fervor. Garrett told him of his journey in the early morning light, birds beginning to call from the treetops, signaling the start of a new day. Anders told him about the new skills the twins were manifesting: Flora in divination and botany and Finn in storm-calling and illusion. Holding each other and kissing and touching and making new promises they could keep in their little house on the hill.

It was indeed, two hours before the twins woke.

Anders made sweet buns, Garrett repeating his stories - toned down of course - for the little ones on his lap.

The world was melting again, winter giving away to spring, and Hawke was home, and that was more than he could’ve ever hoped for.


End file.
